


Breaking Routines

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-31
Updated: 2003-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-01 10:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex wakes up in a motelroom but doesn't remember how he got there. Who should he call? Pre-Clex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Routines

## Breaking Routines

by Whipper

<http://www.geocities.com/whipper_vi>

* * *

Breaking The Routines,  
written by Whipper 

He had routines now. Routines he did his very best to always follow. Getting up in the morning, usually at seven sharp. Cold shower to wake him up, getting dressed and then the rather long walk from the bedroom to his office. It took almost ten minutes for him to get from one end of the castle to the other, something he always found kind of amusing. Breakfast would be waiting for him next to the local morning paper. A pitcher of orange juice, fruit carefully cut into small pieces and toast. He drank his first glass of juice while simmering through the business section of the paper, then he read the comics while finishing off the second one. He almost never touched the fruit or the toast but that didn't stop his chef from serving it to him every morning. He hadn't gotten around to asking her why yet. 

At eight he plugged in his computer and read his e-mail. Sometimes there were emails from Clark and that always made him smile a little. The rest of the day was never quite as amusing and it was mostly dictated by his schedule. Teleconferences, meetings, phone calls... He found it all equally boring, just as he was sure his father had predicted he would, but it was not the kind of work he could trust anyone else to do for him. After a light dinner, usually soup or a salad, he was always jumpy and anxious to blow off some steam. A run on the treadmill or, if the day had been unusually stressful, some fencing exercises with Heike. 

The weekends weren't that much different. Sunday was his staff's day off so he had to make his own breakfast and heat his own dinner. Usually all he had to do was to put a plate in the microwave. His chef thought it to be sacrilege to re-heat food but she never argued with him. She probably knew he wouldn't bother eating dinner on Sundays if it was any more complicated than that. 

Of course, sometimes he spent the weekends in Metropolis. That was not really a part of his routine, but he always made sure to stay away from his old hang-outs. No clubbing for him. Not anymore. He was settling for showing young Clark Kent the sights or having expensive dinners with expensive girls. Like, for example, Victoria. But he didn't want to think about her anymore, because sometimes he could still see the pictures of her and his father when he closed his eyes. And that made him feel off balance. 

And he was already feeling quite.. unbalanced. 

Because even though he had his routines, even though he tried so hard not to think or move beyond the schedule... he had still, somehow, managed to end up here. In an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room with the all too familiar taste of semen, blood and alcohol in his mouth. Aching too much to move. 

He would, of course, sooner or later, have to stand up, get dressed and then get the hell out of here. Where ever here was. But he didn't want to. Because if he left the security of the bed he would have to look at himself in the mirror in the bathroom. He would have to see the evidence of last night on his body; the bruises he could already feel, the dried-up semen on his thighs... And he didn't want that. 

Didn't want to acknowledge the possibility of needle marks on his arms. 

Lex Luthor might have been just a little bit afraid. 

Also, more than just a little unsure of what to do. Of whom to call. That had never been a problem before. But then, of course, before waking up like to this wouldn't have been a problem in the first place. Before he would have been up and inspecting the marks on his body by now, feeling slightly satisfied and not at all disturbed at not knowing what had been done to him or how he'd ended up here. 

But the new, improved Lex was disturbed. 

"In more ways than the obvious", he muttered to himself while finally trying to stand up, testing his legs to see if they would support him. He tore the sheets off the bed and wrapped them around his waist, trying very hard not to pay any attention to the blood stains. He just hoped that the blood belonged only to him. That he was the victim, rather than the perpetrator. 

With hands, that to his big surprise weren't shaking at all, he grabbed the phone and called the reception. Hoped that this wouldn't turn out to be one of those places where once-beautiful women in in badly applied make-up sat in the reception, accepting payment for the rooms by the hour. 

"Good morning. This is the Sunshine Motel reception, how can I help you?" 

A bright, chipper voice that made his head ache and upset his stomach. But at least now he knew that it was in the morning. Which was good to know, even if he wasn't sure what day it was. Saturday? Sunday? 

"I'd like to know where I am." 

"You're here, sir. At the Sunshine Motel." 

"So I've figured." Sarcasm. Nice to know that he could still pull that off. "But just where is here?" 

"Oh." A shocked pause and Lex took that as proof that this wasn't one of those motels after all. "You're a few miles outside Metropolis, sir. In Kansas." 

He could feel the small twitch in the right corner of his mouth, a smirk in the happening. Wondering if he should be seeking comfort in the fact that he was still in Kansas. A state where, whatever happened in this room; wether it had been consensual or not, was still illegal. Always illegal. 

But at least he hadn't really left Metropolis which meant it wasn't too far to Smallville. 

"Thank you, miss. Just answer this, please, and I'll stop bothering you." Trying to sound less like someone suffering from a chemically induced black-out and more like the very charming, smooth man he liked to think of himself as. "Can you see the parking lot from where you're sitting?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Do you see a..." What car had he been driving? He couldn't remember. "An expensive car of some sort? A Ferrari? Or maybe a Porsche?" 

"No, sir. The parking-lot is empty except for a Volvo and a small Fiat." 

"I see. Thank you very much." 

Prepared to put the phone down and lay down on the bed again until the world stopped spinning. 

"Sir... are you all right?" The voice sounded slightly concerned. "Should I... call someone for you?" 

Definitely not of those motels. He smiles a little, she was probably new. Her first job. Young and innocent. Like Clark and his little friends. Sweet Lana Lane and Gabe's obnoxious daughter Chloe. 

"I'm fine, miss. Thank you for asking." 

He disconnected, but didn't let go off the phone. He knew he'd have to make another call. Get someone to pick him up and take him home. But his staff at the mansion would tell his father about what had happened because it was Lionel Luthor that had hired them and it was Lionel Luthor that signed their pay checks. And Lex had never felt less ready to deal with one of his father's visits than right now. Having the doors to his study thrown wide open, being caught off guard and then have all his faults and mistakes from the age of six thrown in his face... 

No. He didn't want his father to find out about this. Not now, preferably not ever. 

But if he wasn't going to call his staff that only left him a very short list of his so called "friends" to chose from. And if he were to keep only the name of people of which he could really, truly trust - trust not to tell his father, trust not to use this moment of weakness against him, trust not to hurt him - the list was left with only three names on it. 

Amanda Rothman. Bruce Wayne. Clark Kent. 

And Amanda, beautiful, sweet Amanda - quite possibly the only woman except his mother and Pam that Lex had ever truly cared for - was dead. She had committed suicide, committed to death and nothingness while Lex was off somewhere, very likely high as a kite and fucking, or being fucked by, a stranger. So she was off the list. 

Don't think about it, Lex. Don't think about her. 

Bruce then. In his mansion in Gotham, hosting some party or running his company. He should call Bruce. Bruce would come for him, take care off him, make it all go away. He'd take a look on Lex, all hurt and lost on a bed in one of the rooms at the Sunshine Motel, and he'd knew at once. Lex wouldn't have to say a word. That was pretty much the problem. 

His old friend would take care of everything. Take care of Lex. Make sure he was all right, have a doctor look at him. Have his blood tested for drugs, make sure a rape kit was done, try to convince him to file charges... Bruce would talk to him and push him into answering all his stupid questions and Lex would be analyzed and have every part of him poked and probed and investigated. And he didn't want that. Couldn't let that happen. Because that would be admitting to being weak. 

Lex could take care of himself. He always had. 

Which left Clark Kent. Who, unlike Bruce, wouldn't understand this at all because cheap motel rooms, expensive drugs and bad sex wasn't a part of his normal, ordinary Kansas life. Clark who was good and decent and kind and innocent and all those other things Lex had never been. Clark who'd already saved his life too many times for Lex to truly comprehend it. 

He'd call Clark. Ask him to pick him up because Lex had once again fallen for the wrong woman - when lying one should try to keep it as close to the truth as possible - and they had decided to spend the night. Then when Lex woke up the girl was gone and so was Lex's car. Very embarrassing and he'd prefer if no one ever found out and that was why he was calling Clark. Yeah. 

Of course Clark would buy it. Not because Lex was a good liar or that the story was very good, but because Clark didn't expect for Lex to lie to him. He trusted Lex. 

Sinking down onto the floor with his back against the bed, biting his lip hard in an attempt to return to reality, he promised himself to teach Clark how to spot a liar. How to not let anyone use the young farmboy like Lex was using him right now. It was his duty, he thought to himself as he dialed the number to the Kent's farm, to make sure no one ever got to take advantage off Clark... and for a split second he actually understood why his father had raised him the way he had. And that was a first. 

Lex smiled bitterly. He had such a cynical and jaded way of looking at life. But jaded seemed to fit quite well with the situation, so Lex guessed that was okay. 

"Kent." 

And of course it had to be Jonathan Kent who answered the phone, barking out his last name in a way that made Lex suspect that the farmer had known all along whom it was on the other end of the phone. Maybe the man was a psychic.. or maybe he just had one of those things that showed the caller's ID. 

Or last night could had been some kind of conspiracy against Lex. Maybe the "WWHLL", short for "We Who Hate Lex Luthor", a club in which he was sure Jonathan Kent somehow had acquired a lifetime membership, complete with the decoder-ring and all, had drugged Lex last night and then proceeded to beat him up and masturbate on his unconscious body. Lex shuddered as the thought of Jonathan Kent masturbating almost sent him over the edge, and not in the pleasant, toe-curling kind of way. 

Somehow he managed to say hello and ask for Clark in what he thought, hoped, was a very sane and polite kind of way. 

"Hang on." 

"Hi, Lex!" 

And Clark's voice was just as happy and chipper as the one belonging to the girl in the reception. But, for some reason, listening to Clark didn't make Lex want to curl up and die in a corner. 

"Hello, Clark." 

"Is something wrong?" 

And Lex didn't even have to close his eyes to picture it. Jonathan Kent standing next to his son, frowning, ready to pull the phone away from Clark's hand and yell for Lex to leave his son the hell alone. He's a smart man, Lex thought to himself and smiled a little before reassuring Clark that he was fine. Nothing wrong at all. He was just calling to see if Clark could do him a favor. 

"Of course!" 

"Really, Clark," Lex said with a small sigh. He wasn't doing a very good job of raising Clark into being a... Luthor? Again Lex shuddered. "You should hear me out before you agree to help me." 

"Uhm, right. What do you want me to do?" 

So Lex told him the story about the attractive girl and how he had spent the night with her and his unfortune of being stuck in a motel room outside Metropolis without a car. And Clark managed to sound both amused and concerned when he tsk, tsked and asked which car it was that the girl had stolen. Lex told him that it had been the Ferrari, even though he couldn't really remember. He reminded himself that he had to get rid of the Ferrari now, wondered if maybe he could give it to his assistant? 

"I'll have to ask Dad first," Clark said in the other end of the phone and Lex tried to focus. "I'll be right back." 

"You do that, Clark." 

And he could hear Clark talking to his dad, voices muted but he was still pretty sure of what they were saying. Not so sure about the outcome though. Would Jonathan Kent let his son go to Metropolis to pick up Lex? If he did, he wasn't even half as clever as Lex credited him to be. But, if he were to rephrase the question, would Clark accept not being allowed to go? Probably not. 

Lex sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head against the soft bed. Fathers and sons. Didn't matter that much wether they were rich or poor... Lex had learned early on that all families were dysfunctional. It was just that some were more, while others were less. The Luthors fell into the category of more. The Kents... were probably pretty much like any other family with a teenager. 

"Lex?" 

Not Clark's voice. 

"Mr. Kent?" 

"Clark tells me you've lost your car and that you need a ride home from Metropolis." 

"Yes, sir," Lex answered, unsure of what Jonathan Kent expected him to say. 

"Don't you have any other... friends, or even better; a chauffeur, that can do that sort of things for you? Don't tell me Lex Luthor can't afford a cab ride home?" 

Lex could hear Clark's angry "Dad!" in the background and he began to regret calling the Kents. Maybe he could just clean up and do as Mr. Kent had just suggested; take a cab home? Or the bus? Not all the way to Smallville obviously, but to Metropolis. 

"I'm sorry I bothered you, Mr. Kent. I should have known-" 

"I am going!" 

Clark's loud yell drowned out the older Kent's voice. There was a shocked silence on the other end of the phone and Lex almost laughed. Poor, poor Jonathan Kent. He was willing to bet that the man was wondering where the obedient little boy he and Martha Kent had adopted all those years ago had gone... 

Lex had an answer for that, though. Two words. Teenage hormones. 

They had turned Lex Luthor from a spoiled brat to... Sexy Lexy. He almost laughed again and the realization hit him that he might be going into shock. Wriggling until he could get the thin sheet over his shoulders he wondered if there was a bathtub in the motel. Probably not. 

"Mr. Kent? Are you still there?" 

"Yes, Lex. I'm here." Jonathan's voice was even but that didn't even begin to fool Lex. Unlike Clark, he could spot a lie coming from miles away. "And I'm telling you, if something happens to Clark-" 

"I won't let anything happen to him," Lex quickly reassured him as he wondered wether he was pleased or pissed that the man was letting Clark come. 

"You better not," Jonathan said in a quiet voice that made the younger man's skin crawl. 

"Lex?" 

Clark's voice now. 

"You have a very creepy father, Clark." 

A small chuckle and when Clark spoke again, Lex could hear the excitement in his voice; 

"I'll be there in a couple of hours. Three, three and a half?" 

"You'll need directions," Lex said at the same time as he realized that he didn't have any idea of how to find the motel. It was outside Metropolis, but that was also all he knew. 

"Let me guess?" Clark's laughing at him now. "You don't know the way yourself? It's alright. Give me the number to the reception and I'll call them. I'm sure they'll be able to tell me how to get there." 

Why hadn't Lex thought of that? He gave Clark the number and was pretty sure that he said thank you and goodbye before he hang up. He felt sleepy again. Thinking was hard. But he only had three hours. Three hours to clean himself and the room up. Getting rid off the... evidence. He just hoped all his clothes were still in the room. And that there at least would be a shower in the bathroom. 

And all of a sudden he began to wish that Clark had accepted that cell phone he had tried to give him once. Because he would very much had liked to call him and ask him to bring a tooth brush and toothpaste so that Lex could get that horrible taste out of his moth for good. 

* * *

Actually it had taken four hours for Clark to arrive to the Sunshine Motel. Three hours to go to Metropolis and then another hour to find that motel. Not that the directions given to him buy a young woman in the reception weren't any good. It was just that that he had a lot on his mind. Clark was feeling bad. Really, really bad. And it was not just because the fight with his dad but also because he had heard Lex's voice on the phone. And it just hadn't sounded... right. Just like it wasn't right that Lex would have take a girl, especially not a beautiful girl, to a place like the Sunshine Motel. Or the fact that Lex, somehow, would had been fooled by a simple thief. He wondered if Lex had been drunk. If he had still been drunk when he had called Clark that morning. 

His friend hadn't sounded drunk on the phone. Thank God for the small favors, because if he had, there would had been no way for Clark to convince his father to let him come here. But still... there had been something wrong with it all. And his father had been right; Lex had a staff and, Clark was sure, lots and lots of friends in Metropolis. Why would he call for Clark, a stupid, innocent kid from Kansas to help him out? 

Yeah, something is absolutely wrong, he thought to himself as he ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He had to use his X-ray vision to find his friend, since there was no room rented to a Lex Luthor or Alexander Luthor or L. Luthor. Or any other Luthor for that fact. Which had kind of made sense, because it would probably be a bad idea for Lex to use his own name in a place like this. Clark almost laughed at the though of asking the young billionaire what aliases he used, just in case they'd ever be in a situation like this again. Somehow he just knew that the names would be a lot more interesting and have a lot more history behind hem than John Smith. 

Ah, there he was. 

Sprawled on the bed, eyes closed and a frown on his face. No light was on and the curtains had been pulled closed. Maybe Lex had been drunk. Maybe he was just very good at sounding sober and normal while suffering through a hangover. Clark found that very easy to believe. After all, Lex had sounded perfectly fine all those times after he'd been hit on the head. Very composed and not at all concussed. With a small snort, he searched for the room number. 26. 

Left turn, long corridor... Room 26. Clark knocked on the door. Not that polite double-knock thing that Lex did, but a normal bang-bang-bang while doing his best not to knock over the door with one of his knuckles. Smiled a little at how shocked Lex would be, how all those small little wheels would begin to turn in his head and how he, in the end, would still let it go. 

"It's not locked," Lex voice called out to him and Clark cracked the door open and slipped in, very aware of the bright light in the corridor. "Hello, Clark." 

"You look terrible," he finally managed to say. Mostly because he knew Lex expected him to but also because it was pretty much true. The young Luthor looked... maybe not drunk, even though, admittedly, Clark had never seen Lex drunk, but still somehow not his usual smooth self. The purple shirt was wrinkled and one of the buttons were missing. No tie and no jacket. And there were shadows under Lex's eyes that matched the young man's shirt in color. All in all, he looked like he'd had a rough night. Maybe the story about the girl and the car was true after all, Clark thought. 

"Yes, I noticed." Dry, sarcastic voice and a small movement in his lips that just might had been a smile. Or, more likely, another one of those infamous Lexian smirks. "I took advantage of the shower in my bathroom so at least I won't smell as bad as I look." 

"But you're fine? I mean, she didn't hurt your or anything?" 

"No." Another smile slash smirk before Lex continued. "Although I will have to ask you to drive carefully unless you have some sadistic urge to see me throw up in your father's car." 

"You wanna leave right away?" 

"Somehow I don't find it very likely that that girl will return my Ferrari. Which means I really have no reason to stay any longer than necessary here." Lex smiled at Clark before he continued; "I want you to know, Clark, that I really appreciate your help. If our relationship continues this way, I'll have to buy you your very own state before I ever get out of your debt." 

"You don't have to give me anything, Lex, and you know that. We're friends. But, of course... I've always had this thing for California." 

"California is nice," Lex drawled. "No cornfields for one." 

The End  
(If you liked it, keep an eye out for the sequel!) 


End file.
